It's a Wonderful World
by SinSong
Summary: A collection of drabbles, short stories, and possibly multi-chaptered stuff, all of the House/Chase variety. Slash, obviously, so if you don't like it, keep scrolling. T for language and sexual naughtiness.
1. Coma Guy Counseling

I was inspired to do this by ShizukaAme's "The Buddy Collections," a series of shorts created by her(or his) very talented self. However, she did hers with House and Wilson. I, preferring Australians, am going to do this the HouseChase way. These won't be strictly related to each other, but they may if the situation calls for it.

HOUSE IS VERY. VERY. VERYYYY. OOC IN THIS CHAPTER. Sorry, but isn't stuff more fun when you kick it off with angst?

Read on~.

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House was doing what he normally did when avoiding Cuddy and his clinic hours; mooching off of coma patients. They always had nice rooms, their TV's had the most channels, and best of all, he could talk to them to work out any issues he may be having.

And boy, was he having issues.

"Alright, so I've got this...person working for me. Blond hair, green-eyes, an accent that makes you wanna kiss him and pinch at the same time, and probably the greatest hair you'll ever see. Now, take this person, and say, maybe, possibly, I might wanna get in their pants. No problem, right?"

Coma Guy (as House had come to lovingly know him) was pensively silent.

"Well, there IS a problem. And it's not even the fact that we're both guys. Well, not for me at least. He was in a seminary for a while, so I dunno if he's still got that whole, "thou shalt not lay down with a man," shit still seared into his psyche. The problem is that it's _him_. It's like... if I... it would be..."

Coma Guy's heart monitor gave an encouraging beep.

Taking heart from this, House continued. "If I had sex with him, I'd end up throwing him away. And... he doesn't need anymore of that. And give me that look, I _would_ kick his pretty ass to the curb. I know I would. He'd know it too, and what's worse, he'd probably never be expecting any different."

Coma Guy lay there in a comforting silence while House ground the heel of his hand into his eye, the heart monitor beeping out a steady rhythm that seemed to help House clear his mind a little. He would give it time. Gather facts.

Then he would act.

House up-and-hobbled out of the room, Coma Guy exhaling an extra deep breath, as if in worry.

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And there it is. The first chapter. Review? Yes? No? Up to you~

Disclaimer: Not mine. How awkward.


	2. Retarded Reflection

**Soooooo, yeah. This is like the first chapter, except done the Robert Chase way. Complete and utter stupidity that he only gets away with 'cause he's pretty. = = Naw, I'm just kiddin'. He's got a brain in there... somewhere.**

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Chase stared into the glass tabletop, into the eyes of his reflection. He'd been feeling off for a few days, and was glad he could just sit without having someone's life be on the line. He wasn't sick; or at least, the Tylenol he'd been taking hadn't done anything but make him drowsy.

_Ironic, that I can't figure out what's wrong with me_, he thought. He relaxed, letting his eyes close. It's easier to figure out what's wrong with you when you just sit and be.

His stomach. It didn't feel queasy exactly, more like how it would feel if he was standing on a boat; rocking slightly.

His chest. Something was making his chest feel all tight, and sometimes it would cause his heart to beat a little faster than normal.

His back. He was getting an uncomfortable itching sensation, and it wouldn't go away. He'd checked his back in the mirror in his apartment. He wasn't breaking out (thank God), he wasn't getting a rash, and there didn't seem to be any skin abnormalities. Nevertheless, he was itchy. His stomach was going Sinbad on him. And his chest was giving him problems.

_Maybe it's cancer_, he thought wryly. And it _would_ be just his luck to get the disease that killed his father.

House barged into the room, making an undue amount of noise with his cane. Chase, startled, jumped violently, knees banging the underside of the table. House snorted derisively. Chase cursed.

It was only when House had sent him off to break into another patient's abode that he realized that House had been looking a little stressed, and that his back, chest, heart, and stomach had all done their dysfunctional dance when House had given him the patient's file, brushing his hand slightly. Chase figured he was allergic to House's cologne or something. He'd talk to him about it later.

Chase looked into the display window of a store and found that his face had contorted into one not unlike the one House gave him when he'd said something particularly stupid. He shook his head, messing up his hair, and set his face back into his typical expression; haggard neutrality.

Chase kept walking, and a coma patient's heart monitor gave an annoyed series of beeping.

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**Sucked, didn't it? Review, or not.**

**Disclaimer: I obviously don't own this, otherwise Chase would be shirtless all the time. =w=b**


	3. Weary Warmth

**Fluff. And a disconnect chapter from the first two, so don't be confused. Slight slashiness, if you squint.**

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House enjoyed coming home to Chase's cooking. His food always managed to fill him and warm him at the same time, and since they usually ate on the couch, the inevitable snuggling that occurred made his whole being do kinda smoldering thing, where he was perfectly warm and content.

Plus, the twink tended to cook shirtless, which was always a sight for sore eyes.

So when House opened the apartment door to find it dark, empty, and devoid of any topless blonds or delicious smells, he was less than pleased. Grumbling, he flipped the lightswitch and made for the kitchen in the now-lit apartment. He popped two Vicodin into his mouth and chased them with a beer he'd grabbed from the fridge. He leaned against the counter, looking for a note or a dish covered with saran wrap, something to explain the absence of his favorite blond boink. Nothing. House checked his phone. Nothing there either. Sighing to himself, he pushed off the counter and hobbled to the bedroom, shedding clothes as he went. Serves Chase right, he thought to himself. Gulping down the rest of his beer, House threw himself into bed and fell asleep.

He woke up the next morning with a blond mop of hair in his face, hot breath tickling the juncture between his neck and shoulder, and pancakes on his bedside table. Carefully extracting himself, House pulled the plate onto the bed. Written in syrup on the top pancake was, "Sorry."

House looked back to Chase. He was curled up, knees bent, hand knotted into the sheet where House had just been. His brow furrowed as House watched and he gave a little grumble of discontent. Sighing, House put the pancakes back on the table and snuggled back to Chase, who immediately burrowed his face into House's chest. Kissing the blond's forehead, House settled in to sleep, enjoying the warmth from their combined bodies.

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**I really want pancakes now... and reviews, but whatever.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. No lawsuits.**


	4. Kicked from the Closet

**Mind raped by creativity today. *dies* Anyways, I was just having a what if moment when I wrote this.**

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**Kicked from the Closet

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**

It starts when a nurse you've politely turned down (repeatedly) breaks into your locker and finds that muscle-man magazine you bought last week in your bag. Apparently, all nurses (not just Brenda) are bitches, because she literally screams the news that you're gay (and a pervert) to the entire lobby, waving the magazine in the air like the mad woman she is.

So here you are two days later, publicly booted from the closet. Or humiliated. It's hard to tell the difference actually. You're actually pretty okay with it. It's just the whispers that keep you looking over your shoulder. And the looks that keep your eyes fixed on the floor.

But when you walk into the locker room to find your labcoat ripped up and your locker's contents in the shower that you feel...

Frightened. Saddened. And oh, so, alone.

You're surprised and ashamed with yourself, but you still find yourself hiding in the shower with your soggy stuff, sobbing. And even though you can hear his cane tapping, you're still bad the shame factor has increased exponentially.

He sighs at the dampness, but he sits down next to you and pulls you to his chest. Even you in your (extremely embarrassingly) emotional state, realize this is really, _really_ weird.

But you go with it anyway because you like the way his chest feels, the way his breath tickles your scalp, and the way his arms can make you feel safe.

(And when he gives you a light kiss on the top of the head, you go with that too. You _have _been outed after all.)

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**Yeah, yeah, fluffy, I know. I'll be doing that alot.**

**Disclaimer: Did this happen? No? Then I don't own it.**

**Review, if you please.**


	5. Insecurity, Sleepy People, The Plague

**More fluff ahead, but with some angst. Hey, shit happens.**

**I think I'm making the whole 2nd person format my bitch. Oh and this is the Chase POV, by the way. Kicked from the Closet was too.**

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**Insecurity, Sleepy People, and The Plague

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**

He came down with the flu, so you're working half-days to make sure he doesn't die (he's actually pretty useless around the house). You like to sit in a chair by the bed (you've put him under quarantine) and read, or watch TV, or talk, on the off chance he's actually conscious. You tell him this on the third day of, "The Plague," (his name, not yours) and he coughs up the retort that, "The dying need rest."

You smile and go to make dinner (the last time he had to wait he sang, "Like A Virgin," until the neighbors filed a noise complaint.)

You come back today to find him still asleep, clutching the sheets where your body should be. You realize that these past few days have actually been the first time the two of you haven't been in bed at the same time. And you know how well House adapts to change.

You go and get your camera. His neediness makes for great blackmail.

After stashing the photos, you just stand there, looking. He always looks grumpy when he's sleeping, even in your apartment, because he doesn't like letting people see him vulnerable. It didn't bother you at the time, but thinking about it now, it makes you kind of sad. Not because he doesn't trust you, but because he never will. At least, not completely.

(It was that part of him that pulled you in, after all.)

You decide to, "break the quarantine bubble." Your sudden bout of insecurity has made _you _feel needy, so you crawl into bed with him and pull his arms over you. You watch him for a while, and then you kiss him, flu be damned.

(And when you get sick too, you'll talk about these problems with him, and he'll give you his 'poker face,' that you know you'll never crack, and you'll just smile sadly at your lap.)

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**Fluffy angst? Fluffangst? Flangst? Whatever. It happened. Don't hurt me.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. (Unfortunately).**

**Review. 'Kay? 'Kay.**


	6. Trust Comes in Boxes

**More angst. Then fluff. I'm a sucker for happy endings. *shrug***

**House POV! **

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**Trust Comes in Boxes, or, What He Wanted**

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You're irked by the fact that he thinks you won't trust him. Not because he actually said it to your face (you weren't expecting that.)

Because it's true.

You wanna desperately find a way to make things between you okay again, but you're afraid own fucked-up-ness will end up making you do something stupid, something that'll make him leave. That thought scares you even more, and _that _scares you even more...

Fear's a bitch.

And then it comes to you.

That night, you make _him_ dinner. You make _him _sit and watch TV while you do the dishes. And you bring _him _a beer and some popcorn so you two can watch a crappy movie (that'll hopefully be made not so crappy by some groping and necking. You like how when purrs, you can feel the back of your throat rumble).

But when he's ready to take things to the bedroom, you stand up and go to your bookshelf. Pull down the metal box. And give him the key.

He looks between you and the key until the tension is almost unbearable. And then he gives it back. You look at him, confused; wasn't trust what he wanted? You ask. He smiles, but it's not sad this time, or the fake one he gives patients. It's the smile that uses his whole face, makes the edges of his eyes crinkle, starts that dancing spark of green in the middle of that blue.

It's at that moment that you realize you've been House-d. You tell him this.

He smiles again and pulls you into the bedroom.

You exact your revenge by pounding into him so hard he can't think, by giving him about 20 hickeys, and by making sure he's walking funny all day tomorrow.

(It's while you watch him walk bowlegged down the hall that you realize that what you two have is so much what you've always looked for, that you can't even think of subconsciously torpedoing it).

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**That last bit was a bit of sparkling inspiration. House really does like to make himself miserable. It got kind of annoying. Hm. Well, whatever. He has Chase now.**

**Disclaimer: I WISH I owned House, but I don't. Now go away.**

**Review. Y'know you wanna. All the cool kids are doing it.**


	7. Seven Days, Seven Ways

**Teeny dittybops that made me smile. I'd like to think that we'll all find something like this. But whatever.**

**House POV, kids. Don't forget it.**

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**Seven Days to Seven Ways I'm Lovin' You

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**

First Day

You love the way his hair tickles the inside of your thighs when he sucks you off. You love the way he never fails to make you throw your head back and give a low moan. And you love the way he always swallows.

(He claims he never learned to spit).

Second Day

You love the way he never knows how bad he looks. He'll walk in to work in green pants, a yellow shirt, and a black striped tie and still be surprised (and offended) that people will still mock his wardrobe. This includes you, of course.

(But he just looks at you and smiles his real smile, because you both know you'll say that the pants make his ass look hot, his shirt makes him look ripped, and that his tie is oh, so, sexy when you use it to tie him to the headboard).

Third Day

You love how your grouchiness brings out the kid in him, making him act like a puppy. Like the time he demanded the two of you go sledding. You pointed out the fact he hates snow, but he (being seven, maturity-wise) just says that he never really gave it a chance.

(You tell him, "I told you so," when he gets a bad cold, and he makes sure to cough in your food, thereby making you both even and incubuses of viral plague. But hey, at least you can have sex now).

Fourth Day

You love how sings quietly in the shower every morning, a new song everyday, because he knows you hate your alarm clock.

(You'll start dropping subtle hints about which song you want sung the next day).

Fifth Day

You love the way he bends over. Simple as that.

(It's obviously because you're boning what's making those pants stretch like that, and it's hot).

Sixth Day

You love how he'll cook for you naked and all you have to do is ask.

(Morning quickies are so much easier when one of you's wearing only briefs and the other nothing at all).

Seventh Day

You love how even after you've been dating (but it's more than that, you just can't find the right word) for seven months, he still obviously wants to please you because he's still offering completely dunderheaded ideas just to have his own input.

(You love how he pleases you in the bathroom stall even more, though).

+1

He's lying next to you, his back to you. You can't tell if he's asleep or not. But you say it anyway.

"I love you."

Then you roll over and quickly fall asleep.

On the other side, an Australian is smiling himself to sleep.

(You blush furiously the next morning when you see the wet patch on his pillow. He brings out the sensitive side of you).

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**No, the wet patch was not caused by a wet dream. Heads outta the gutters folks. And in addition to the 2nd POV, parentheses are also my bitches. "Keep yo pimp hand strong, young bruthah!"**

**And yes, I put in an extra day, and yes, it's a sap fest. I wanna be happy. Don't judge.**

**Disclaimer: In the oddity that is the marriage of author and written word, not all is, "mine and yours." As in, I don't own House. Now get outta my face. Bitch.**

**I believe in NOT schlepping for reviews. NOT. Now do it.**


	8. Ain't Yours No Mo'

**Something that randomly came and hit me in the face. It sucks. Whatever.**

**But a sincere thank you to those who are stomaching this drivel**

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**Things That Are Rapidly Becoming Not-Yours

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**

Thing 1

First is your drugs. Not, y'know, he's _taking_ them or anything, but you go to him instead of Wilson now for your prescriptions. Because he's there, not because you trust him. Or love him. Or anything dumb like that. You feel the need to remind him of this every time he pulls out the pad.

(But you sometimes wonder what Wombat would be like hopped up on Vicodin).

Thing 2

Second off is your cane. He falls asleep on the couch often, and you don't like sleeping without him, so you struggle the 2-or-so-feet and poke him in the face. He, of course, grumbles, shifts, wriggles and does everything except actually, y'know, _wake up_. You finally decide to just stick the thing in his mouth. See how well he adjusts to not-breathing.

(Things have a surprising way of not working like you'd think).

His oral fixation apparently applies to his subconscious brain as well, because he starts fellating your cane in his sleep and you're too busy collecting your jaw off the floor to stop him. And it only gets worse when you catch a muffled and sleep-heavy, "Greg..." escape that sinfully talented mouth.

(You've half a mind to see if he'd suck you off in his sleep).

Thing 3

It's just an old sweater. You told him this a few weeks ago when you see him wearing it (and nothing else) one morning. You tell him you don't care if he wears it, but you don't tell him it's his.

Well, apparently, it is. 'Cause he's been wearing it three-out-of-five days a week. At home of course.

(It wouldn't do for the other ducklings to get jealous).

So you decide to just give it to him. You wrap it in some old newspaper, tie it up with an old shoelace, and give it to him unceremoniously one night when you're both lounging on the couch. He smiles and puts it on. You tell him the condition for keeping it is that he can only wear it with no other clothes on.

You've never really appreciated a strip tease before now.

(And you should've known that having no shame is a requirement for a relationship with you).

Thing 4

Your iPod. Literally, a day will not go by without you having to ask him for it after he borrows it. So one day, you buy him one. The same model and generation as yours, but in a different color. Green.

"Because of your eyes." You tell him gruffly. And he smiles and takes it.

(A few days later, you find it stuffed behind the bookshelf. You have no idea what to make of this).

Thing 5

You. Without realizing, he managed to get complete control over you. You've always been the advocate for rational thought, but whenever you look at that face...

You're happy now. And that means things are going straight to hell.

(You're praying desperately for everything to work out all right, which scares you, because you're atheist).

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**I'm debating whether I wanna make a multi-chaptered thing off this idea I have... but I dunno if I'm ready for that yet. Or if people would actually read it. **

**Meh. I'll sleep on it**

**Disclaimer: Not mine~.**

**Review? Why yes, what an excellent suggestion!**


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